


Domestic Diversions

by parapraxis



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, real person fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark and Ian have found that the best kept secret to keeping any romance alive is laughter...and a little friendly competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Mark, Ian, or Bunsen. They belong to each other. This is a real person fiction, so if you are not a fan of such works, please stop reading now.

Recognizable strains of ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ could be heard bleeding out from behind the closed front door even before Mark had reached the stoop. With a quick glance in either direction to assure that there were no irate neighbors who might complain about the noise level, he quickly ascended the few steps to the door and turned his key in the lock. 

He had been wholly unprepared for just how loud the music would be inside, and he found himself wondering if his husband was going deaf or if he simply found it necessary to always play ABBA this loudly when Mark wasn’t home. 

‘Dear God, it isn’t as if I deprive him of the opportunity to listen to it whenever he bloody wants…’ Mark ruminated as he set his keys and sunglasses on the table next to the door.

“Ian?!” He called, trying to raise his voice loud enough to be heard. The fact that Bunsen hadn’t come running at his call was evidence enough that the music was too bloody loud. He stuck a finger in one ear to try and drown out a bit of the noise as he moved further into the house to locate his husband.

Reaching the threshold of the kitchen, Mark stopped dead in his tracks, guffawing at the sight that greeted him. 

At the sink, there stood his husband, clad only in his black boxer briefs and that damnable Dallas vest with Sue Ellen’s mugshot plastered down the front, washing a stack of dishes from the previous night. He watched Ian’s lower half moving to the beat while he crooned along at the top of his lungs, nearly out-singing the band. 

It was obvious that Ian was oblivious to Mark’s arrival, and a thousand possibilities clambered towards the forefront of his mind as he considered just how he should make his presence known. Each thought became more and more nefarious, until he simply had to shuck them all with a laugh, lest he give his lover a heart attack.

With a stealthiness that would have impressed even 007, Mark moved in behind Ian. In one swift motion, his arms encircled Ian’s waist and he pressed up against Ian’s backside, singing along, although out of key. 

“Fuck!” Ian shrieked in surprise, dropping the glass he’d been washing back into the soapy water. He flung the sponge down and spun around, shoving at Mark with no real malice. “You scared the absolute shit out of me!!”

Mark pretended not to hear Ian over the music--though it wasn’t exactly difficult--and pressed his ear forward with his index finger to signal Ian to speak louder. Ian glared momentarily before reaching for the stereo remote on the counter, aiming it over Mark’s right shoulder and muting the music.

“You asshole.” Ian tried to seem miffed, but when Mark grinned and moved back in to press Ian’s back against the edge of the counter, he didn’t stop him. Tipping his head back so he could look up at Mark, he gripped his husband’s belt loops and pulled him closer still. “How long were you standing there?”

“Just a minute or two,” Mark confessed, dipping his head down to kiss Ian’s lips. “Do you always rattle the windows when I’m not here?”

“It’s ABBA,” Ian shrugged, as if that was explanation enough.

“Mm, so I heard...as did the entire street.”

Ian cringed a little. “I suppose it was a _bit_ loud…”

Mark chuckled in response, leaning in to kiss his husband again, this time letting his lips linger longer. “Perhaps, but I’m more interested in knowing just how often you engage in the Risky Business routine.” To accentuate his point, Mark slipped his thumbs inside the elastic waistband of Ian’s pants, caressing the skin beneath before letting the material snap back into place. 

“Not as often as you’re hoping,” Ian replied with a deviant smirk. “I’m doing the wash and didn’t feel like dirtying up anything else.”

“Dishes _and_ laundry? Someone’s feeling rather domestic today.”

“Someone knew it wouldn’t get done otherwise. Speaking of which…” Ian placed his fingertips in the middle of Mark’s chest and pressed him back a step before he turned back towards the sink with a teasing grin. Grabbing the stereo remote, he aimed it backwards over his own shoulder and unmuted it, letting the ear-splitting guitar solo of ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’ fill the air. He plunged his hands down into the soapy water and retrieved the glass he’d been cleaning, resuming his task. 

As Ian suspected, Mark was not deterred in the slightest and moved back in against his backside. Lips pressed against the juncture between his neck and shoulder, teeth nibbling at the skin and raising gooseflesh on Ian’s arms. The fingertips of Mark’s left hand snaked underneath the hem of Ian’s vest, tickling up his side before splaying across his abdomen, while his right hand reached for the remote, and dropped the volume down several notches. 

“Carry on,” Mark murmured against Ian’s neck, placing the remote back on the counter before grasping Ian’s hip and making him sway to the music.

Ian couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips, and when the next verse picked up, he sang along with Frida while Mark echoed Agnetha’s bits into his ear. As Ian took over at the chorus, Mark’s lips expertly sought out that place on his neck that could render him useless, but Ian wasn’t ready to let him win. Making sure his fingers were nice and soapy, he flicked the foamy substance at Mark’s face.

Immediately, Mark recoiled, releasing Ian completely. Craning his head around with a self-satisfied smirk, Ian watched Mark scrunch his nose as he delicately wiped the suds away before giving his lover a dissatisfied look. “That, my love, was completely uncalled for and you shall dearly pay for such a dastardly, underhanded, and fiendish move.”

Without further comment, Mark turned and swept out of the room in near Lugosi fashion, leaving Ian chuckling to himself at his victory. He had no doubts that this was only one of many rounds for the evening--the cat and mouse chase of their passion could often go on for hours until one or both of them finally begged for no more games. He would have to be ready for round two, and knew that it would be up to him to initiate it since he had so expertly rebuffed Mark.

Making quick work of the rest of the dishes, Ian checked the laundry before he finally silenced the stereo and sought out his husband.

A quick glance in the study confirmed that Mark hadn’t gone immediately to his computer, which left only one plausible conclusion: The bath. 

Ascending the stairs to the master bedroom two at a time, Ian paused as he saw the trail of clothing from the door of their bedroom leading into the bathroom, and heaved a fatalistic sigh. Mark had deviously planted the fabric path, and Ian was half-tempted to leave the offending items where they lay, but the neat-freak inside of him simply could not walk past without picking up each one and tossing the pile into the hamper he had emptied only hours before.

When he finally entered the bathroom, Ian found Mark almost completely submerged in a bath filled to the brim with bubbles. All that could be seen above the white cloud of foam was the top three quarters of Mark’s face, from the upper lip to the top of his head. His eyes were fixed on Ian, and it was obvious Mark had been waiting for him. Ian felt like the prey that had just walked into an elaborate trap. 

“Since when do you take bubbles in your baths?”

Mark didn’t answer, his eyes unblinking as they stayed upon Ian. It made the younger man incredibly apprehensive, and Ian began to fidget under the intense gaze.

“I, um, I thought maybe we could take Bunsen out later. Get a takeaway if you feel up to it. I don’t feel much like cooking again tonight, so…” Ian knew he was rambling nervously, but he couldn’t stop himself. Mark made no indication that he’d even heard the words and Ian swallowed reflexively. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Still no response. Ian rolled his eyes.

“Alright, ha-ha, you win this round. Honestly, love. Do you want to go out?”

After the third round of silence, Ian gave in to the feeling of being unnerved by Mark’s relentless stare down and approached the edge of the tub with a soft whimper of submission. “Mark, please just answer me so I kn--”

Before he could get the rest of the words out, Mark’s hands came out of the water and grabbed at Ian like a crocodile, fingers closing around his wrist like a vise. With one mighty tug, Mark jerked Ian into the tub, making sure to cushion Ian’s fall so he didn’t hurt himself on the way down. Ian gasped, completely shocked by the turn of events, and stunned into inaction as he suddenly found himself in his pants and vest sitting crossways on Mark’s legs, his own feet hanging over the lip of the tub.

Mark was laughing manically, and for a moment all Ian could think about was the mess of water and bubbles that had sloshed out onto the floor. 

“You...tit!” Ian couldn’t even begin to form proper words, and he slapped the water at Mark in a feeble attempt to get revenge. “I cannot believe I fell right into your dirty little plan!”

“So willingly, too.” Mark grinned, pulling Ian all the way into the tub and kissing his lips. “I couldn’t have scripted it better. You always cave under the silent treatment.”

“You’re a miserable bastard, you know that, don’t you?” There was no vitriol behind the words; of that, they both knew and Ian soon forgot about his sodden clothes and the mess on the floor. He scooped up a handful of bubbles and gently patted the foam over Mark’s jaw and chin, creating a white, pointed beard. “So, yes or no to going out...though I can’t say I’m all too keen now.”

“Oh, you were serious and not just trying to bluff me?”

“Yes, I was serious. I’ve just put the house in order--” he stopped and looked at the water on the floor with disdain. “Well, I _had_ just put the house in order before you got in, and didn’t really fancy making a new mess. So much for that, however.”

Mark chuckled and pulled Ian back in for another kiss, transferring some of the suds from his face to Ian’s. “You go get the takeaway. Take Bunsen, too. I’m sure he’d love to go with. I’ll stay here and clean this mess after I finish my bath...which you’re currently in the middle of.”

“Mm. And whose fault is that?” Ian straddled Mark’s legs, laying against his husband’s torso and wiped the remaining bubbles off Mark’s face before peppering his jaw with kisses.

“Oh, it’s absolutely your fault,” Mark avowed.

“Mine?!” Ian nearly shrieked in protest, sitting back again to look at his lover with dismay.

“Yes, of course it is.”

Ian nearly growled in frustration when Mark refused to elaborate, and--belated--he realized he’d lost yet another round in their game. 

Pulling himself out of the tub, Ian snatched the towel Mark had set aside for himself and began to dry off. Mark started to object to the use of his towel, but promptly shut himself up, knowing another round had begun. Stripping out of his wet clothes, Ian wrung them out in the bathroom sink and laid them aside for the time being. He finished drying himself off, then carefully picked his way across the wet floor to get dressed in the bedroom.

Mark sank back down in the tub with a pleased smile, closing his eyes and soaking in the warmth of the water. He really was not fond of bubbles, but making the concession this once had been more than worth it. 

‘Bless him,’ he thought sweetly. ‘He really can be quite like a lamb to the slaughter sometimes.’

Even so, he knew Ian was not one to trifle with. Patient and kind to a fault, he was equally as devious at times. It was something Mark treasured about his husband. He was quirky and every bit the geek that Mark was, but generally in different areas. They complimented each other in every respect, and Mark knew he would never tire of the other man as long as he lived.

So relaxed and lost in thought was he, Mark didn’t realize he had dozed off until his nose dipped under the water and snorted in a lungful of water. Jolting upright and succumbing to a fit of sputtering coughs, he decided bath time was very much over. Pulling the drain plug with his toes, he pushed himself up and reached for his towel.

With his arm outstretched, Mark stopped and stared at the bare rod. “Damn.” He supposed he would have to give that point to Ian after all.

Feeling like a wet ape as he climbed naked out of the bath, he carefully tiptoed through the tide water on the floor to the linen closet on the other side of the bathroom and pulled down a fresh towel. Spying the alarm clock on the bedside table, he realized that almost an hour had passed, and wondered why Ian had not come to wake him. Surely he was back by now…

Torn between cleaning the mess, as promised, and going off in search of Ian, Mark decided to compromise. Taking a handful of towels from the linen closet, he spread them out over the small lake on the floor and stamped around on top of them a few times to make sure the water absorbed into the fibers. He left the mess in the floor, making a mental note to clean it all up before Ian saw it and had a fit, then hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.

Stuffing himself into a pair of jeans shorts and a t-shirt, Mark ambled down the stairs, calling for Ian, but receiving no reply. He was just about to phone Ian’s mobile when he spotted the single piece of paper on the coffee table.

_If you can find me, you can have your dinner...and maybe dessert too. xxx_

There was only one clue on the paper: A crude sketch of a man’s head wearing a crown. 

Mark scratched his chin for a minute, sitting down on the coffee table to try and puzzle it out. He knew Ian well enough to know that there were more clues to his location than what was on the paper, most obvious being that Bunsen was with him, so the place had to be dog-friendly. It would also have to be relatively close given that Ian had schemed this up, penned the note, and had--probably--been at the location for some time waiting on Mark. Plus, it was just the safest bet if ‘dessert’ was on the menu.

He stared at the drawing a few more minutes. The Crown? A Head? A King’s Head?

“Oh, you clever man,” Mark chuckled, realizing it was a representation of The King’s Head, a theatre on Upper Street.

Immediately Mark’s mind started to map out all of the dog-friendly restaurants within that vicinity. He mused that he had probably been writing Sherlock for far too long, as he was starting to naturally deduce like the detective that came alive in his scripts. He considered each restaurant carefully, knowing that Ian would pick a particular one out of sentiment, and only Mark would know the reason why.

It took no more than five minutes to come to the conclusion that Ian was at The Pig and Butcher. The restaurant was dog-friendly, within minutes of the theatre, and sat across the street from Cloudesley Square. Though it was a small spit of greenery, Ian always made comment on how he was probably kin to Sir Cloudesley somewhere on his father’s side, and therefore should be a rightful heir of the wee garden.

With his mind set, Mark pocketed his wallet and mobile before grabbing up his keys and heading off triumphantly.

The journey was a quick 7 minute walk and, even before he was close enough to call out, he could see Ian and Bunsen waiting for him at one of the outside tables. Ian was engrossed in something on his phone--undoubtedly Twitter--and had not spied Mark until Bunsen had jumped up on his feet, wagging his tail. 

The smile that greeted him was worth every step and he couldn’t help but smile back as he leaned in to kiss Ian before sitting across from him. “Five minutes,” Mark answered before Ian could pose the question of how long it had taken him to figure it out.

“What the hell have you been doing in the meantime? I’ve been here almost an hour!”

“Nearly drowning. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“This was much more fun.” Ian beamed. “Though, I was considering texting you to make sure you’d even seen the note.”

“Yes, well… you had me at dessert. How could I possibly miss that?”

A waiter appeared just then with a bottle of beer in hand, and set it down in front of Mark, giving a wink to Ian before disappearing back inside. Mark looked suspiciously from the waiter to his husband to the beer and back again. “What was all that?”

“I’ve already ordered. I just told them to hold off on bringing everything but my wine until you arrived.” He picked up his nearly empty wine glass and drained the rest of it. “I think they thought I was being stood up. They’ve been out to check on me and refill my glass several times.”

As if on cue, another waiter appeared with a bottle of red wine and refilled Ian’s glass.

“Dare I ask how many you’ve had?”

“More than enough.” Ian confessed with a soft laugh.

The two chatted idly while Bunsen lay beneath the table, watching any passersby who might offer him a quick pat or a treat. His tail thudded against Ian’s shin any time it wagged, gaining his master’s attention, who would then reach beneath the table to offer him a scratch behind the ears.

It took only a few minutes more before their food was being delivered. Mark felt his mouth water at the succulent aroma emanating from the cured meat and mash, and promptly tucked in to eat as if he hadn’t seen food for days. 

“You know,” Ian drawled as he made precise cuts in his own meat. “It seems a shame now that you kicked me out of your bath. After all, you were the one who dragged me in in the first place.” He speared a bite with his fork and held Mark’s eyes with his own. “We could have had dessert first…”

Mark watched Ian gently bite the meat square off the end of his fork before it disappeared into his mouth to be chewed and swallowed. His gaze was drawn to Ian’s lips, his mind wandering over a plethora of pleasant thoughts all centered around those lips, until he remembered they were still playing their game. His eyes snapped back up to Ian’s. “Might have been even sooner had you not blinded me with dish soap.”

“Yes, well...you’re the one who decided to sneak up on me and nearly give me a heart attack.” Ian countered.

“Which wouldn’t have happened had you not been sharing your love of ABBA with the whole of Islington.”

Ian stared at Mark, no rebuttal ready at the tip of his tongue. “Damn.”

Mark threw his head back with a laugh as Ian stabbed at another cube of meat in defeat.

As they finished their meal, and sat chatting away once more, the waiter came to collect the tab and clear the table. Ian had started to reach for his wallet, but Mark stopped him and pulled out several bills. “Keep the change.”

Finishing off his beer, he looked at Ian, who was already half-lidded with inebriation. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Do I need to call for a taxi?”

Ian waved him off. “I’m not that pissed, thanks.”

As he stood, however, he staggered to the side. Mark raised his eyebrows in quiet rebuke, but the quirk of his lips gave away his amusement in the matter. Taking Bunsen’s leash in one hand, he took Ian gently by the arm with his other. “Come along, Tipsy Hedren, let’s get you home.” 

Ian gasped dramatically, and clung to Mark as he shielded his face as if from a dreadful sight. Quoting one of the most memorable scenes for Alfred Hitchcock’s _The Birds_. “Cathy! Where’s Cathy?”

Mark chuckled and wrapped his arm further around Ian. “Have I ever told you, you’re adorable when you’re shitfaced.”

“I am not,” Ian protested again, sliding his arm around Mark’s waist. “If I was, I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“Mm. So, if I stop supporting you, you’ll be able to stand on your own?”

There was a long silence as they continued on down the street towards home, and Mark couldn’t help but laugh yet again, nuzzling Ian’s hair with his nose. 

“That’s what I thought.”

The walk took a few minutes longer going home than it did to get to the restaurant, as they waited for Bunsen to do his business. When they were finally locked inside the comfort of their own home, Ian let his inhibitions run wild. He pressed Mark up against the door, passionately kissing his lover. Mark groaned in delight, but stopped Ian when his hands began to pull at his clothes.

“Can I let the dog off his leash first, love?”

Ian smiled sheepishly and stepped back, watching Mark release the dog and hang the leash up next to the door. As Mark emptied his pockets, Ian stepped up behind him, thumbs kneading the ever-taut muscles in his shoulders. “No more games tonight.”

Mark rubbed his cheek against Ian’s hand before gently taking it in his own and pressing a kiss to it. “No more games. I will respectfully adhere to the truce.” He turned, grinning down at his husband as his arms slinked around his waist. “Besides, I won by a landslide. No need to keep grinding you into the dirt.”

“That’s not f--” Ian was silenced by Mark’s lips against his own, kissing him slowly and sweetly. This time, it was he who groaned, threading his arms around Mark’s neck. He practically melted in his lover’s arms, losing himself completely in that kiss, until he was overwhelmed by the emotionality of it all, and forced to break away. He held Mark’s forehead against his own, brushing their noses together. “I love you.”

Mark’s fingers swept through Ian’s greying hair before cupping his face and kissing his forehead. “And I you. Always.”

“Let’s go up,” Ian suggested, his lips touching the tip of Mark’s nose.

Mark was just about to let himself be led upstairs when he remembered the mess on the bathroom floor. “No! No! No!”

“What? Why not?”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Ian once more, Mark stalled. “Let me just hold you a minute longer.”

The tactic failed.

“You didn’t clean up the spill, did you?”

“I absolutely did…” Mark paused, cringing a little. “I just didn’t pick up the towels I used to clean it up.”

Ian whined a little as he envisioned the new pile of laundry he would have to tackle, and silently debated whether or not it was enough of a disappointment to kill the mood completely. “Fuck it. It’s your turn to do the wash anyways.”

Taking Mark firmly by the hand, Ian pulled him towards the stairs before he could be deterred for a third time. Reaching the landing, they both began to pull at each other’s clothes. Hands and lips roamed the bared skin as they blindly made their way to the bed. 

“Turn around,” Mark breathed in Ian’s ear, his hands on his husband’s waist. “Let me pamper you.”

Ian didn’t have to ask what Mark meant, and he leaned up to kiss the other man’s lips before crawling into the center of the bed and laying on this stomach, head resting on his crossed arms. As soon as he was settled, he felt the bed shift, then Mark crawl over him, straddling the backs of his upper thighs. 

Blunt nails scratched up and down Ian’s back, eliciting a satisfied groan from the prone man, and Ian arched into the scratches. After his back had been thoroughly itched, Mark’s thumbs began to make small circles on either side of his spine starting just above the curve of his ass and slowly working up to his neck. Ian sighed, letting his eyes drift close as he enjoyed the massage. Mark’s hands were warm, and knew just the right amount of pressure to apply to each spot. When his fingers slid into Ian’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp, Ian moaned softly and felt himself practically melt into the mattress. 

“That feels so good…” He slurred, now intoxicated from his lover’s expert touch.

“Really?” Mark sounded perplexed. “I must be doing it wrong.”

Ian chuckled and kicked a heel up, connecting with Mark’s bum. “Shut up.” 

Mark merely grinned in response, continuing his trek to rub every inch of Ian’s body. He moved lower down his husband’s fit frame, massaging the backs of his thighs, calves, and even each foot individually. As he started to work his way back up, he bent to press kisses along the way, nipping and letting his tongue trail up from the curve of his ass all the way up his spine. He nuzzled Ian’s neck and nibbled his earlobe, rubbing himself against his lover’s backside.

“How was that?”

Ian didn’t answer, nor did he move.

Mark pulled back a little to look down at the side of Ian’s face that he could see. “Ian?”

He watched Ian’s even breathing for a moment before realizing his husband was out cold. Any disappointment he might have felt was quickly overshadowed by a swell of adoration. He shook his head with a smile, lightly kissing Ian’s temple and smoothing his mussed hair before carefully dismounting him. 

With some effort, Mark managed to pull the duvet down under Ian, and shift his husband’s dead weight onto his back and up against the pillow before covering him up. “My beautiful little lush,” he teased to the sleeping man, gifting Ian’s lips with a soft kiss before he switched off the bedroom light.

Moving into the bathroom, Mark collected all the soiled towels, making sure to mop up any remaining wetness before he carried them all downstairs to the washer and tossed them in. His last chore was to lock up and turn out the lights, then he headed back up to bed. Though he wasn’t tired, he wanted to be close to Ian, even if the other man was passed out.

Getting himself into bed, he switched on the lamp next to him, picked up the book resting on the nightstand, and pushed his reading glasses onto his face. Ian had already shifted onto his side with his back to Mark, not bothered in the least by the light as he continued to slumber, and Mark watched him for several moments with a loving smile. Resting one hand on Ian’s hip, Mark used his other hand to open the book at his marker and he began to quietly read.

Perhaps the night hadn’t ended as either had hoped, but there was nothing Mark would have changed about it. It had been perfect, just like Ian.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Involves some graphic sexual situations. If you are not okay with reading real person sex scenes, skip this chapter.
> 
> Note: Filming is taking place in London, not Cardiff in this chapter.

A puff of hot air roused Ian from a deep, dreamless sleep and he opened his eyes to find himself nose to snout with Bunsen. Those innocent brown eyes gazed at him as the thick blonde tail wagged happily, and a pink tongue came out to lap Ian square in the face.

"Augh!! Bunsen!" Ian wiped the slobber from his face as a paw found its way onto the edge of the bed, followed by a low whine. “I’m up...I’m up…” He promised, knowing it was time for the dog’s morning constitutional. 

Casting a quick look first to the clock on the bedside table, then over his shoulder at the empty spot in the bed next to him, Ian realized very quickly that he’d fallen asleep during Mark’s little pampering session last night, and felt immensely horrible for having done so. 

He knew that Mark had already up and gone for the day, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. He usually stirred long enough to kiss Mark goodbye in the morning before he left, but he couldn’t remember anything beyond that massage. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked around his dry contacts, reaching for his mobile, but coming up empty on the bedside table. 

_Damn…_ In their hurry to get to bed the previous night, he must have left it in the pocket of his jeans. 

Crawling out of bed, Ian gave Bunsen a pat, promising to take him out soon, then found his jeans amongst the trail of clothes still littering the floor. Digging his mobile out of the pocket, he stuffed his legs in through the holes and pulled them up to his hips, letting them hang there as he tapped the screen to bring the mobile to life. Though the battery was low, he still had enough juice to send a text to Mark.

_Can’t believe I fucking fell asleep after all of that. Dreadfully sorry, love. I will make it up to you tonight. Xxx_

He plugged his mobile in to charge, then headed into the bathroom to use the toilet, remove his contacts, wash his face, and comb his hair. He would properly groom after he’d taken the dog out and had his tea. Slipping on his specs, Ian was just pulling a t-shirt over his head when his text alert sounded. 

Rounding the bed again, he tapped the screen and read Mark’s reply.

_Damn right you will! Love you anyways._

He laughed, knowing Mark was teasing, and also knowing the short reply meant he was most likely busy. Leaving the mobile to charge, Ian let Bunsen herd him down the stairs. 

After a walk around the block that entailed stopping every 5 feet to let Bunsen sniff around, Ian dished out the dog’s breakfast, refilled his water dish, and set the kettle on the stove. Mark’s bowl from breakfast was sitting in the sink next to his teacup, so Ian quickly hand washed the dishes and put them away before making his tea. 

He carried the cup into the study and sat down at his laptop, letting the bag steep for several minutes as he read up on the latest news and checked his Twitter feed. Not surprisingly, Mark had been on a political warpath that morning, tweeting and retweeting the latest about Brexit, Trump and Farage. Ian’s opinions were quite similar to Mark’s--the world was quickly going to Hell around them--but he tried not to jam the feed of his own followers with too much of it. It was all just too depressing and upsetting.

Sipping his tea, he checked his email. There was one from his mother with a link to a YouTube video and a message that simply said “Thought you’d enjoy this. Love Mum.” He clicked the link and was taken to a video compilation of funny animal clips. Though he didn’t spend the entire ten minutes watching it, he did get a few laughs out of some of the clips involving dogs and kids.

After reading and responding to the rest of his emails, he finished his tea, washed the cup, then headed back upstairs to shower and shave. His mind kept drifting to the previous evening, and their cat and mouse games. He still couldn’t believe he’d completely sacked out, and hoped that Mark hadn’t been too put off by it. He could count on one hand the number of times that had happened before in their relationship, but it was usually Mark who drifted off, not him; and it was usually because Mark was already so knackered that he could barely see straight.

Ian firmly decided that tonight there would be no games, no keeping score. He would have dinner ready and waiting, they would eat, then he would make sure he atoned for the previous night in full. Mentally, he made a shopping list of what he would need to pick up for dinner--immediately throwing out the idea of wine, lest he find himself lulled into another fermented grape-induced stupor. He also toyed with the idea of setting out candles and having romantic music playing, but worried he might accidentally set fire to the place if he lit them too early and forgot about them.

Ultimately, Ian decided that Mark wouldn’t care one way or another what the ambience was, just that they were both there together, so a simple dinner and a night of passion was what he would deliver. No frills; just his full, undivided, awake attention.

Stepping out of the shower, Ian was reminded of the fact that Mark had used most of their clean towels to mop up the water spilled from their tub excursion, and idly pondered what he’d done with them. It would have been a miracle if Mark had actually managed to wash and dry them, but he suspected he would find the mildewing heap either in the hamper or stuffed in the washer. Bless his husband, but housekeeping was certainly not his strongsuit. 

After shaving and styling his hair, Ian found fresh clothes to change into. He made the bed and picked up the remaining trail from last night, tossing it all in the hamper--which, he noted, was empty. Checking his phone, he saw that the battery had recharged enough to last him the remainder of the day, and stuffed it into his pocket as he padded back downstairs to locate the missing towels.

Opening the door to the washer, the stale stench of mildew greeted his nostrils and he groaned in mild annoyance. He hoped one run through the wash cycle would get the smell out, but bet himself it would take at least two. Adding the soap, he set the washer to run, then made his way back into the kitchen to take stock of the inventory in the cupboards.

His pocket buzzed at the same time that he heard the muffled text alert and he fumbled the phone as he pulled it out to check the message. 

_Today has gone to shit. We’re wrapping early--bloody technical issues. I’ll be home soon. Must be charming to my adoring public first._

Looking at the time on his phone, Ian noted it barely past noon. He wouldn’t make it to the shop and back before Mark got home. That, coupled with the fact that Mark wouldn’t be too keen on being behind schedule in shooting, put several kinks in Ian’s plan. 

“Alright,” he said aloud, refusing to be defeated. “Plan B it is.”

He looked around, chewing his lower lip. “Except I don’t exactly have a Plan B.”

The idea of the candles and music filtered back into his mind, so Ian made a quick round of the house, collecting up every candle he could find, and toted them all up to the bedroom. Drawing the curtains, he tried to block out as much daylight as he could, then placed the candles around the bedroom in small groups--nowhere they might get knocked over or fall on either of them. Finally, he shuffled through the music on his phone to something soft and decidedly not ABBA, keeping the volume low, but still letting the melodies drift around the room. 

He was just lighting the last group of candles when Bunsen took off down the stairs, signalling Mark’s arrival. Hurrying with the last wick, Ian waved out the match and tossed it in the bin before practically ripping his shirt and jeans off and diving onto the bed. He tried to position himself as provocatively as possible, but couldn’t help but feel silly. Turning himself onto his stomach at the end of the bed, he propped his chin up in his hands and kept his eyes fixed on the bedroom door.

“Ian?” Mark predictably called out.

“Upstairs!” 

“Are you decent? Amanda’s come ‘round for tea!”

Ian dropped his face against the bed with a groan, thankful that he hadn’t decided to put himself on display in their living room or kitchen instead. “Down in a minute…” he called back, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Dragging himself off the bed, Ian stuffed one leg at a time back into his jeans. He was just fastening them and beginning to blow out the candles when Mark’s voice startled him from the doorway.

“What’s all this?”

“I’m going to put a fucking bell around your neck,” Ian threatened, grabbing his chest as his heart jumped--again--at the unexpected presence. 

Mark smirked in reply before crossing the threshold and engulfing Ian in his arms, gently kissing his lips. “You should have told me; I wouldn’t have invited anyone over.”

“It...was meant to be a surprise.”

“Consider me surprised, and disappointed that I cannot immediately partake.” He kissed Ian again, letting his lips linger a little longer. “Are you hungry? I was going to make a few jam butties to go along with the tea.”

Ian nodded, extricating himself from Mark’s embrace and swooping down for his shirt. “I’ll lend a hand in a sec. Let me blow the rest of these out.”

“I’d much rather have you blow something else.” Mark quipped with a devious smirk.

Ian tossed a playful look over his shoulder, “That was the plan, but, alas…” He leaned over and seductively blew the next candle out with just a whisper of breath. When he straightened, he found Mark looking at him with complete rapture. “Now you’ll just have to wait...again.”

“Tease.”

Ian watched Mark turn and head back downstairs, presumably to give some feeble excuse for the delay to Amanda as well as escape before the sexual torment took too much of a toll. He made quick work of blowing out the rest of the candles, adjusting his hair and clothing to look presentable, then hurried down to help Mark and chat with Amanda.

Time seemed to move immeasurably slow. Either Amanda was completely oblivious to their current state of sexual frustration, or she was deliberately trying to exploit it. After tea and sandwiches, she’d planted herself in the middle of the living room floor to play with Bunsen. When she brought up Brexit, Ian nearly groaned out loud. That hot topic would have Mark on for at least an hour more, and it would certainly put him out of the mood for several hours following that. He decided there was only one way out of this…

“Did those sandwiches sit wrong with either of you?” He asked, rubbing his stomach and feigning illness. Both looked at him with mild concern, but Mark quickly caught onto the ploy. 

“You sure it’s not still the upset you had from dinner last night?” He looked towards Amanda, playing the role of doting husband as he moved next to Ian to feel of his forehead. “Food poision, we suspect. Undercooked meat, most likely.”

“Oooh, I’ll get out of your hair. Seltzer and a cool cloth, Ian. It’ll help keep you from getting sick.”

“Thanks, lovely. So sorry to feel so rotten when you’ve come ‘round.” Ian groaned, wrapping his hands around his stomach.

Mark stood up and walked Amanda to the door, pecking both her cheeks before apologizing, again, and sending her on her way. When the door shut and locked behind her, Mark turned back towards Ian, laughing and shaking his head. 

“I have no words for how fucking brilliant and simultaneously horrible that was. We’re pricks, you know that, right?”

Ian held out his hands to Mark, dragging him back down to the couch as he laid himself lengthwise on it. Mark covered Ian’s body with his own, dropping his lips down to his lover’s neck to lay a field of kisses across his throat. “She said the dreaded B-word. I had to do _something_ or you’d have been on a tangent for the rest of the night. Couldn’t let the mood be spoiled _again_.” 

“Mmm. As I said, fucking brilliant.”

Mark’s hands had just started exploring under the hem of Ian’s shirt when his mobile began to ring on the coffee table. Ian seized both of Mark’s biceps, holding him firmly in place. “Don’t you dare fucking answer that.”

With a coprophagous grin, Mark pulled out of Ian’s strong grasp and sat up, reaching for the phone. Ian had a strong urge to throttle his husband, but settled for pulling the throw pillow out from under his head and cramming it over his face as he screamed his aggravation into it.

“Steven, hiiiiii.” Mark crooned, dragging the word out so that Ian knew he had every intention of prolonging the call. “Any luck finding a replacement camera so we can get back to work tomorrow?”

Just when Ian was about to give up on ever getting his husband in bed, he felt Mark’s hand knead its way up his inner thigh. He pulled the pillow away from his face to find Mark watching him--that smug smile still plastered across his face--as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. When Mark’s hand reached the junction between Ian’s legs and began to mercilessly fondle him through his jeans, Ian knew the game was back on despite his earlier resolve not to play.

Dropping the pillow back over his face to muffle his sounds, Ian let Mark work his erection to full length within the confines of his jeans. It was almost painfully tight, but it felt too good to stop his husband. The touch, however, stopped on it’s own and Ian felt the couch shift just before the pillow was plucked from him and tossed away. Ian gazed up at Mark standing over him, the mobile pressed between his ear and shoulder as his hands were working his belt and trousers open. 

Reading Mark’s desire like a book, Ian sat himself up, helping to free Mark’s own erection. He couldn’t help but wet his lips with his tongue as he glanced up at his lover’s face once more. Mark’s fingers drifted through Ian’s hair with silent encouragement as he continued the conversation with Steven seamlessly. 

_Sod it._ Ian thought, investing himself fully back into their game. With the sole intent of making Mark lose his composure, Ian lapped the flat of his tongue from the base of Mark’s cock to the tip before taking the full length of it into his mouth.

Mark gripped a handful of Ian’s hair as pleasure surged through his body, but he kept domain over his vocal inflection as he responded to Steven. He doubted the call would last the duration of this segment of their game, but that didn’t matter. So long as he didn’t let on that his cock was being sucked, he would take the round. With the way that Ian was working him, however, it was going to be close.

Dragging his teeth lightly over the rounded head, Ian felt Mark’s body jolt in response. He could tell Mark was holding his breath, and pounced on his opportunity. Flicking his tongue back and forth just along the sensitive head, Ian was relentless. One hand worked the shaft with a firm grip while the other danced along the seam of his sac.

Pulling his lips in together in a vain attempt not to give in, Mark dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. Blood was pounding in his ears, his lungs were burning from trying not to pant… Fuck it, he was just going to have to lose this round. “Steven, I need to call you back in a bit.”

There was a brief pause before Mark tossed the mobile down on the couch next to Ian, then both hands gripped his husband’s head and he pushed his cock into Ian’s mouth with a satisfied groan. Having excellent control of his gag reflex, Ian was able to relax his throat just in time to take the full length. Were he able to grin triumphantly around Mark’s cock, he would have, but instead he focused his full attention on bringing Mark the much needed pleasure he had unwittingly denied him the previous night.

Nothing would ever beat this, Mark knew. All of his past sexual encounters before Ian had all but vanished from his memory. It was as if this was all he’d ever known, and all he would ever want to know. He never wanted this to end, ever. “Christ, you’re amazing.”

Ian simply groaned in response, keeping Mark deep within his mouth and letting the sound vibrate his lover. Mark hissed softly in pleasure, his hips jolting forward in response to the stimulus, and he pulled Ian back by his hair until his cock feel free of his husband’s mouth.

“Upstairs,” Mark demanded, leaning down to claim a kiss before he pulled Ian to his feet and held his trousers up with one hand.

“Shall I go relight the candles?”

“Fuck the candles,” Mark answered, gripping Ian’s hips and spinning him around to push him towards the stairs. “I’ll have you now, thank you.”

Ian had a sense of deja vu as they climbed the stairs in tandem, Mark practically glued to his back and peeling Ian’s shirt off over his head. Before Mark could toss it aside, however, Ian snatched it from his hand. “I’m not picking up _again_. You’ll just have to contain yourself a few more seconds.”

“Minx.” Mark growled, nipping Ian’s ear as they reached the landing.

Spinning on his heel, Ian turned to face Mark as he walked backwards to the bedroom. Mark’s trousers had slipped low on his hips, revealing the top of his briefs that barely contained the fullness of his erection. Draping his shirt over his shoulder, Ian grasped Mark’s belt loops and pulled their bodies flush. He paused just long enough to lean up and kiss Mark as one hand slipped down the front of the briefs to fondle his love.

With a sigh against Ian’s lips, Mark slipped his hands around Ian’s waist. “What was that about containing oneself?”

“The rules don’t apply to me,” Ian teased, squeezing firmly and eliciting a groan.

“Bollocks.” Mark tried to argue.

As they shuffled into the bedroom, Ian lifted Mark’s shirt over his head and tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room along with his own. Mark was already pushing his trousers and pants down with eagerness, hopping from one foot to the other as he yanked each leg free and peeled off his bright pink socks. The pile joined their shirts on the chair before Mark started to help rid Ian of his jeans. 

In an attempt to be suave and debonair, Mark swept Ian off of his feet and into his arms. Automatically wrapping his own arms around Mark’s neck, Ian admonished his husband for the move. “You’re going to hurt your back!”

“I’m fine,” Mark shook his head, carrying his husband over to the bed. He drew Ian close, kissing him softly, then unceremoniously dropped him down onto the mattress. 

A yelp of surprise escaped from Ian as he bounced on the soft surface before both men dissolved into a fit of laughter. Mark crawled over Ian and laid himself on his back in the middle of the bed, pulling his lover on top of him. Ian immediately set about kissing every inch of Mark’s torso, his tongue and teeth teasing each nipple into a rosy peak. As he slipped lower down Mark’s body, he could feel the man beneath him stretching towards the bedside table and fumbling for the necessary items.

Nipping at Mark’s sharp hipbone, Ian felt his lover’s long, slender fingers sift through his hair before, in a low, gravely voice, he requested that Ian, “Turn around.”

Needing no clarification, Ian pivoted his body around until his knees were on either side of Mark’s head, putting them both in a position to pleasure one another simultaneously. Resuming where he’d left off downstairs, Ian moaned softly as he felt Mark’s warm mouth engulf him. They set an easy rhythm, a slow pace of enjoyment rather than rushing the moment.

Ian heard the click of the lid on the lube bottle and felt his spine tingle with anticipation. His body shifted down, just a fraction, unconsciously moving into a better position before Mark’s arms wrapped around his thighs. Years of practice had given Mark a skill of precision, and Ian felt his slick thumb brush over his opening. He moaned again as Mark teased his rim, slicking the outer surface as he deep-throated Ian’s cock.

“Fuck…” Ian was forced to release Mark from his own mouth, panting in pleasure as he relished the sensation.

Sensing Ian’s eagerness for more, Mark gently pressed his index finger through the ring of muscle, milking a soft mewl from Ian as his lover returned to servicing his cock. His concentration was starting to wane, pulled between giving pleasure and receiving it, so he ignored what was happening in his own nether regions as much as possible to focus all his efforts on Ian.

A second finger joined the first, pressing in all the way to the third knuckle and Ian completely lost his rhythm. Each stretch and scissoring of his fingers teased a groan from his lover, and each deep thrust was rewarded with a soft inhalation of breath. Mark purposefully drove deep to brush against Ian’s prostate before he withdrew his fingers and released Ian’s cock from his mouth. Ian was already turning himself back around before Mark could verbalize the request, his head dipping low to steal a kiss as reached back to grasp Mark’s cock and guide it in.

A rush of air escaped their lungs simultaneously as their bodies became one. Mark’s arms wrapped themselves around Ian’s lithe frame as he sheathed himself to the hilt within his lover. Neither of them held much stock in God or religion, but in moments like this, Mark was absolutely certain there was a Heaven… He was holding one of its angels in his arms.

“I love you more than anything,” Mark murmured, nuzzling Ian’s cheek as a sudden wave of sentimentality washed over him.

“More than Doctor Who?” Ian teased as he began to slowly move his body.

“Well…” Mark drawled, his eyes closing in pleasure. Ian laughed softly, taking Mark’s hands and lacing their fingers together. Using Mark for leverage, he pushed himself upright, letting Mark sink deeper into him. 

“I love you, too,” Ian panted. “More than anything.”

“More than ABBA?” Mark smirked.

“Well…” Ian echoed Mark’s drawl. 

Mark had decided long ago that their sex life could fall into several categories. There was the frenzied, needy sex after a long (or even short) separation due to work and traveling schedules. There was the teasing, torturous, slow sex full of foreplay and their little match games that could last hours, or even days if the mood struck them. There was the kinky sex, of course, with a variety of aids and toys. Then there was this--the soul connecting, sweet, passionate sex that was neither hurried nor teasingly slow. This sex was the true art of making love in Mark’s mind. It fulfilled him on every level, making him feel as close to his husband as he ever possibly could be. 

He knew it was the same for Ian. He could see it in his lover’s eyes, he could feel it in the way Ian’s body moved, he could taste it in his kiss. There was no doubting in these moments how deeply their love for one another ran, and it was oftentimes so emotionally overwhelming that it brought one, or both of them, to tears.

As usual, it was Mark who had tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as they neared their peaks. Ian kissed away the wetness, pressing his cheek to Mark’s as their hands still gripped one another’s tightly. 

“Cum for me…” Ian breathed.

The soft plea was the only motivation Mark needed to find his release. Driving his hips up against Ian, Mark felt his husband meet every thrust with equal fervor. He let go of Ian’s hands, gripping his hips instead as he bared down on his orgasm. 

Ian took the opportunity of having his hands free to grasp his cock and stroke himself. Each strike against his prostate made him groan, and he tried to keep his eyes open and focused on Mark’s face, but the intensity of it was driving him mad.

“Oh God...Ian…” Mark’s fingers tightened at his hips as his body tensed in response to his impending orgasm. Ian sat himself as deep as possible on Mark, tightening his muscles around his lover, and riding Mark as hard as he could. 

Mark was the first to find release, his body arching up into Ian as he spilled himself deep within his love. The rush of fluid and pressure against his prostate were enough to send Ian over the edge.

“Fuck! Mark!” Ian cried out as stars exploded behind his eyes. He rode out the tidal wave of pleasure, milking his cock manually while still moving over Mark, until the swells died into rippling aftershocks, leaving him spent and sated. 

Unable to keep himself upright any longer, Ian fell forward against Mark’s chest. He could feel the wetness of his cum between their torsos, but couldn’t find it within himself to be bothered. They lay there, breathless and beyond rapture, still physically joined. Ian could hear the pounding of Mark’s heart in his chest, and knew that his was beating just as wildly. 

For several moments, neither of them spoke as they tried to catch their breath. Mark’s fingertips began to trail up and down Ian’s spine and he nuzzled the top of Ian’s head. Ian pressed his lips against Mark’s chest before lifting his head and leaning up to kiss his lips. 

“I’d like to see ABBA make you cum like that,” Mark quipped.

Ian chuckled and laid his head back down on Mark’s chest, relishing the closeness before the desire to shower overtook them both and forced them out of bed. “You should have met me when I was a teenager.”

“Mm. I wish I had...Although...seeing as how I would have already been in my 20s, that might not have been such a good thing.” 

They both laughed at the thought before Mark wrapped his arms around Ian, squeezing him tightly. With one lasting kiss, Ian peeled himself off of Mark’s chest, making a noise of disgust at the mess. He carefully dismounted Mark, breaking their physical connection and padded into the bathroom to find an unsullied washcloth. Wetting it under warm water, he cleaned himself first, then rinsed the cloth, and carried it back to the bed to wipe the mess off of Mark.

“Are you going to ring Steven back? I’m sure he’s sitting around wondering what the hell happened earlier.”

“Later,” Mark answered, sounding almost sleepy. “I want to shower first.”

Taking Mark by the hand, Ian pulled him out of bed and leaned up to kiss him once again. “Just what I had in mind.”

Mark grinned as he let Ian lead him into the bathroom. “I had an inkling you might.”

TBC


End file.
